


The Thin Man

by took_skye



Series: Living For the Night [13]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Absinthe, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/took_skye/pseuds/took_skye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elle's first experience with absinthe comes under the guidance of Dr Reid, a man more experienced than one would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thin Man

  
_"When alchemists first learned how to distill spirits, they called it aqua vitae, the water of life, and far from considering it the work of the devil, they thought the discovery was divinely inspired." ~ Gene Logsdon_

***///***

In the pure state Verte resembles Lemon-lime Gatorade, shockingly celebratory in its coloring and too harsh for the mood. Yet, once mixed properly with sugar and water and flames it clouds and creams. It's beautiful and soothes its burn down the throat with every sip.

I take another, let the red of my lips stain the glass, and watch as the man mixes his own. His hands hold steady as he brings the match gently to the sugar cube, barely touching the two before the white square bursts forth in shades of red, orange, yellow, and blue. “Where did you learn about this?” I ask watching the small fireball between us.

Reid’s eyes roll up and around the flames. “I read. A lot.”

“No, no, no chico,” my lips move slowly as I lean on the table some. “I know the difference between casual user and someone who makes a ceremony. You’re a ceremony man.”

The man’s eyes return to the dancing light before he reaches to shift the spoon with its decorative slots into a slide. The cube leaves a small ashen trail before igniting the contents in the glass. This fire is doused quickly with a shot of water, bringing up a bit of greened absinthe-scented smoke.

“So, where did you learn, Dr. Reid?”

The thin man sits back in the chair, long digits fingering the base of the special-made glass, seeming to study me before speaking. “Vegas.” I arch my brows as I sip, wait for more as he purses his lips and tips the clouded liquid into his mouth. When he swallows the muscles in his neck roll slow. His tongue slips out to collect whatever is left. “My mother taught me when I was young. I would make it for her in the evenings and then she would read poetry aloud as she sipped it and relaxed." His smile grows. "She would tell me to always make it Bohemian.”

“An addict?” I wonder.

“A Bohemian,” he sips once again, “and a romantic.”

I nod some and take another sip, attempting to match his in length and size. “What happened to her?”

“Sorry?”

“You refer to her in past tense.”

The man nods hesitantly, drinks deep, then sets the glass down completely. “She went mad. Still alive, but...not the same.” My eyes go down in shame and regret at having said anything. “It wasn’t the drink, don’t worry.” I look up and see he’s smiling just a touch. “Absinthe is no more dangerous than alcohol unless you get it from an unsavory source.”

“And your source is good?”

“My source is the best,” he states with a surety that both intrigues and puts my mind at ease. I don’t bother to ask more because I can tell he won’t answer.

There’s a silence that stretches between and around us creating a strange intimacy that neither of us planned as we drink. The spirit of The Green Fairy floats through my veins relaxing my heart and mind in ways my usual cocktail never could. It's pleasant, calming and exciting at the same time.

The dark of night creeps in from the windows, crawls across the floor and up the walls. We don’t mind, we welcome it as a third guest. It begins to settle up to the table we sit at and stroke our faces.

I sip again and again and again…one glass...two...then another…until my lids feel heavy. I’m never a girl that goes down easy. I fight the drowsy warmth of the spirit and my own desires to lay my head to sleep.

“You didn’t tell me you were a lightweight.” He smirks softly at his own tease.

My head picks up. “I’m not usually,” I reply, my smile dreamy like my eyes. “Usually I can drink any man under the table, cops and criminals alike.”

“I’m neither of those things.”

Reid stands, leans over the table some. There’s a scratching sound, then a burst of flame from the head of a matchstick. He lights the virgin wicks of my candles.

“Then what are you?”

He hovers over me some, standing as I sit. His lips blow the match into smoke and I watch the wisps of it mesmerized. Had I ever seen anything so beautiful? So tangible and intangible at the same time? I let his gaze draw mine. “Whatever I need to be.” I think he’s playing with me and I like it.

It isn’t like with Hotchner. There’s no rough words, harsh orders, or strong slaps given and received. This isn’t a competition of open aggression; it’s of subtle seduction. My heart quickens. Blood thrums in chase of that fairy spirit as she flies through my veins filling me with a strange combination of peace and desire.

I've never felt this before.

My hand reaches out on its own, slow and shaky, to him. It’s caught in his fingers by the base midair and turned over. Soft lips plant themselves against my palm and leave shivers behind to grow and spread. “So, do you like it?”

“Absinthe?”

“Yes. Absinthe.”

“Yes.” I repeat in answer. It brings relaxation and heat to parts of me that haven’t felt it in years. Body in a cloud, head in a fog, passions at a slow burn, soul freed to exist. “Is it true what they say?”

He’s seated now, the one tracing my hand with his lips, and he pauses by my thumb. “What do they say?”

Oxygen rushes into lungs, fills me with a coolness that the exhale releases in a warmth. “That it’s an aphrodisiac.”

Hot breath is released in a small laugh over my wrist. I nearly moan. “That depends on you,” the genius tells me.

“That’s no kind of answer,” I almost slur out, now fighting the lids of my eyes that want to close for a different reason than sleep.

I watch as shadows and light battle for dominance on his face causing the features to distort. Cheek bones strengthened, lips plumped, eyes deepened.

“On the contrary, Ms. Greenaway.” Lips press against the pulse point, my eyes flutter close. “It’s the only answer."

Eliminate one sensation and the others enhance. I hear his breathing, steady but shallower than usual. I imagine it in my ear, his voice deep while explaining every reaction my body will give him and why. His touch, the barely-there fingertips and mouth that cause skin to flush and hairs to stand in anticipation for his next move. The smells of absinthe, fire, and us - woman and man - swirl in the room, musky and thick, close as we are.

"Do you feel it?”

“Feel it?”

There’s no reply, only the spreading out of my arm on the cool table. One hand keeps hold of mine, rubs gently at the wrist. The other pulls cloth back from skin and breaths goosebumps up the arm. His mouth follows, pulse point to pulse point.

"Jesus." It's an exhale, a pant. I force my eyes open once again.

His eyes catch the light of the candles as he looks up at me.

"Aroused?"

I use all my strength to sit up, lean over, and set my lips to his. I keep things soft, slow, chaste even with the throbbing need in my body. I pull back only enough to speak. “Desperately so.”

The red of the flames catch in his cheeks suddenly. “Would you care to lay down, Elle?”

I smile, set the glass that’s been refilled and emptied while in my hand more times than I can count, on the table. “Will you join me, Reid?”

“If you wish.”

“I wish”

He’s surprisingly strong; able to lift me from the chair in one long, gentle, pull by the hand and keep me upright with thin arms around my waist on either side. I feel my body move under his guidance. I don’t feel the hard wood floor of the main room or carpet of the bedroom. I barely feel my bed, but I feel him.

“Lay with me.”

The bed shifts, sheets ruffle, and he’s beside me with a kiss to my shoulder, a rub of my arm.

"More."

"More?" His hand sets to my stomach, rubbing and writing out advanced equations I don't understand.

"Yes." My hand goes over his, encourages it down. "More."

Another shift in the bed and his lips catch mine with tenderness as his hand obeys. Slips under clothing with surprising dexterity from the man who nearly tripped over my welcome mat when first arriving.

Is this what absinthe really does? Brings out the opposite in you? Melts cold hearts, softens hardened souls, strengthens weak personalities, and gives skills to those we think have none?

A skilled finger brushes the ache in my clit and my hips thrust forward in eagerness.

He pulls back. Smiles some. "Relax."

“Relax?”

“And enjoy. Yes.”

My next attempts at talk are met with lips that work to suck the words from me. I'm left with just moans.

***///***

 _“Heavy. What is it?"/“The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of.” ~ Cop, Sam Spade, The Maltese Falcon_


End file.
